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Splitting Hairs

    I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned my hair a few times. I think we need to delve into it a bit further. You see, when it takes a $200 trip off-Island to get a haircut, or new underpants for that matter, you take a haircut seriously. Besides, when you’ve got the broad shoulders and the wide hips, you rely on your hair as a sort of aphrodisiac, if you know what I mean.
                I’ve been thinking about a haircut for about 8 months now. Did I mention life chugs along pretty slowly around these parts, giving me plenty of time for watching paint dry or the grass grow? Anyhow, I came to the decision that I should go ahead and do it even though more than one woman here told me she left her last appointment at the hair salon in tears. Hey, it takes more than a crappy haircut for me to turn on the waterworks. And naturally I consider tears over a haircut pretty much wasted. There are so many other crappy things to cry over, so I try to save my tears for things that have a heartbeat. So I made the appointment and I went last weekend.
                Oh, and yes, I did have a slight situation which prompted me to pick up the phone and call Maggie’s Salon. You see, I’ve spent a year looking like a half-moon cookie with half of my hair gray and the other half a deep auburn from L’Oreal because I was so worth it. Basically my hair was two-toned. I’m painting a pretty picture I know. In an effort to address the bottom red half, I enlisted my husband’s help. A couple of weeks ago I went down into his sewing room and stood stone-still while he took a hank of my hair in his hand and cut it off with upholstery shears. And he did a pretty good job - no more dark auburn, just a nice, flat gray with some white thrown in. I would have kept it that way but I just couldn’t get that Dutch Boy paint can out of my mind and so I decided to make the call to Maggie’s.
                I had a lovely hairdresser named Theresa who filled me in on lots of town news. Her ex-husband is a bit of a folk legend around these parts. Her second husband is a much better fit, she said. I digress. So, I told Theresa I want to look like Meg Ryan. Her hair only, because I know there’s no real chance of me ever looking like any other aspect of her. I hear she lives around here part time and some say she’s a little too thin these days. What I wouldn’t give for that description.
                The results were not exactly the same as Meg’s – I was going for her hair in “You’ve Got Mail” – but I do like it. It’s about as good as it’s gonna get. My husband is going to take a picture of it real soon so I can share it here. It would be up already but when I asked him to take the picture today, he informed me that “Now isn’t a real good time.” I’m still pondering what the hell that means. He assured me that he would take it but that I would not be happy with the outcome. Hmmmm….

There is only one cure for gray hair. It was invented by a Frenchman. It is called the guillotine.
P. G. Wodehouse


Tyler Thrasher said…
I love this, so many ideas and things to think about when I finally get around to customizing my blog!
Tyler Thrasher said…
I love this, so many ideas and things to think about when I finally get around to customizing my blog!
Connie Berry said…
Thanks Tyler! Will look for your blog:)
Deb said…
I hope you picked up some new underpants while you were off-island. :)
Connie Berry said…
You know I always wear my sister's hand-me-downs:)

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